


I’ve Spent Too Long Only Thinking About Myself

by HunterByDayWhovianByNight



Series: Start Consuming Like A Human [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clone Wars, Clones, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, F/M, General Grievous-centric, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Trauma, Past Abuse, Secret Relationship, Touch-Starved, Trans General Grievous, Trans Ronderu Iij Kummar, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, Yearning, house arrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight
Summary: "My bounty is as boundless as the sea,My love as deep; the more I give to thee,The more I have, for both are infinite."―William ShakespeareGrievous found himself falling harder and harder for Obi-Wan, and finding it harder and harder to deny it as well.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Ronderu lij Kummar
Series: Start Consuming Like A Human [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759057
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second part of Start Consuming Like A Human! This is the much angstier, much longer sequel to [It's Just A Self-(Destructive) Way That Stops You Having To Be Human!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285472) I would suggest reading it if you haven't already. As always, thank you and credit to Lee for all of the OCs, scenarios, and support. Please enjoy! Title is from "In Too Deep" by Genesis.
> 
> ~Hunter
> 
> P.S.: Be sure to check out my Anakin and Ahsoka (can't believe I have to say this, but non-ship) series, [The Space Between Us](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756915) if you like my Clone Wars stuff!

Every three months, General Grievous had Obi-Wan Kenobi all to himself— well, as all to himself he could get being on house arrest and watched by a small retinue of clone troopers― for two weeks. The Clone Wars were raging around them, but those two weeks came like clockwork and offered some respite. When Obi-Wan was there, Grievous felt like an organic again; he felt like he could breathe and exist without having to perform for others. While the other Jedi on guard duty were nice enough, Obi-Wan was the one Grievous actually felt comfortable with. 

Being at the safe house alone with nothing but his own thoughts made Grievous aware of the fact that Obi-Wan was the first person to care for him after Ronderu. It had been so long since Ronderu that he had forgotten what it felt like to care and be cared for. _To love and be loved,_ Grievous’ mind teased him from time to time. Grievous’ bond with Ronderu was intense and forged by war; that kind of bond was hard to break. He treasured those memories of them training and on the battlefield, holding them close to his heart. Those fiery moments of passion and bloodlust bound them together and made them inseparable. 

When Ronderu was murdered― _yes, murdered,_ Grievous always thought to himself, _for she did_ _not simply die_ ― he murdered the man he was. _Qymaen._ Ronderu’s absence left him with a hollow in his chest so deep that no amount of sex or murder or revenge could fill it. He became grievous when the gods refused to return her to him, even just for a moment, and was thereafter known as Grievous. It felt fitting that the man she knew died with her. 

Obi-Wan was the only one who even came close to making Grievous feel the way Ronderu made him feel. Obi-Wan never wanted to exploit or manipulate Grievous― he only ever wanted to pull him out of the grip of the Separatists. Obi-Wan saw Grievous for the man he was, not the pawn he could be. Dooku and the Separatists used Grievous’ unresolved trauma, his anger and rage, to further their own causes. Grievous’ childhood, and the war with the Huks especially, had left him a broken and hurting child, one that was taught to use violence and warfare as a conduit for healing. His warriorship, even before the mechanics, made Grievous dangerous and ruthless. 

The reliance on killing and violence, all of it motivated by revenge and born from a lifetime of warfare, made Grievous ill-tempered. Cruel. _Isolated,_ emotionally and physically. Grievous knew of no other way to live; he didn’t know how to be a smooth-talking politician or a savvy bounty hunter. He only knew the black-and-white aggression of war. He developed a reputation over the years of being allied with the Separatists for being short with droids and politicians alike, offering no mercy when others stood in his way. 

(Organics and mechanics in the Separatist movement usually ignored him or kept their interactions as brief as possible because of his reputation. It only exacerbated Grievous’ feelings of isolation and anger.)

Before the mechanics, Grievous may not have been benevolent, but he was able to feel. Before he became Grievous, he was able to feel love and joy, power and pain. He was most of all proud to be a leader of the Kaleesh people; they revered him as a demigod and admired him for his warriorship. But all of that was stripped away when Dooku forced him to get the mechanics. The organic flesh he once had made him capable of feeling a connection with others, made him able to feel a bond with his people, but the mechanics he was forced to _upgrade_ his body with (the ones given to him against his will) stripped him of any possible connection with beings made of flesh and blood. He was nothing but a head and a gutsack now.

The moment Grievous realized that he was no longer organic was when he realized that flesh and blood was what made organics capable of empathizing with each other, even when they were not of the same planet or species. It was a hard time reckoning with the knowledge that it was hard to empathize with a cyborg whose only surviving organic bits were locked away, both literally and metaphorically, behind walls of durasteel armor and emotional distance.

Grievous didn’t know why Obi-Wan cared about his well-being so much. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan felt so much like a reincarnation of Ronderu. He didn’t know why he deserved Obi-Wan’s kindness most of all. He had been a Separatist slave for so long, a ruthless killing machine for even longer. How Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man even Grievous knew was pure light and goodness, could find it within his power to reach out to him was beyond his understanding. But maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, because he quickly found that Obi-Wan was full of love and compassion. It was hard not to be drawn to a man like that. Obi-Wan’s pure compassion resisted everything Grievous assumed about the galaxy since time and time again, Obi-Wan showed him that he was a man worthy of love and respect.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the antithesis of every Separatst politician and droid who only wanted to use and exploit him. He was the only one who saw past all of the durasteel and rage and revenge. He was the only one who had ever cared.

All of Grievous’ anxieties about his past and whether or not he was worthy of the affection Obi-Wan was giving him began to brew during the first two weeks he spent at the safe house. He and Obi-Wan had been trapped in the house with nobody but themselves and a handful of clone troopers, which made for an interesting dynamic to say the least. Those first two weeks together were emotionally tumultuous and full of moments that could have turned into something more. They had gone… well? He didn’t know how to feel about them, unfortunately, until the very last night Obi-Wan was scheduled at the safe house.

Maybe Grievous was just hesitant and insecure, but Obi-Wan’s behavior around him was certainly strange.

~~~~~

It had all started on the first day of Grievous’ new life at the safe house. Obi-Wan had told the clones to stay outside and secure the perimeter while he showed Grievous around the house, something that made him immediately question Obi-Wan’s intentions. Obi-Wan took Grievous’ hand in his as soon as they were out of sight of the clones and led him into the main room. Grievous could barely register the fact that Obi-Wan was holding his hand.

“It won’t be much, and it will certainly be difficult to get used to, but I’ll be here with you every few months,” Obi-Wan said, urging Grievous to make eye contact with him. “We can and will make the most of this.” Grievous’ head whipped around, a look of confusion on his face, but was met with the eager and excited face of Obi-Wan. The way the other man was talking made it seem like they were a young couple trying to work out their blossoming relationship.

 _But aren’t you two a couple? You did kiss, and then slept on the same blanket in that cave,_ said Grievous’ betraying subconscious. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow and waited for an answer. Grievous realized he hadn’t responded yet and tried to clear his throat only to be met with a short coughing fit. He used the moment to conveniently slip his hand from Obi-Wan’s grasp, not wanting to feel his neurons fizzle and burst any longer. 

“Yes. Yes! Of course. Shouldn’t be too difficult at all.” Grievous tried to ignore the jilted expression on Obi-Wan’s face. He knew it was a low blow to have covertly slipped his hand from Obi-Wan’s like that, but he couldn’t stand the feelings of discomfort that came with being touched. When he was done coughing, he placed his hands behind his back, clasping his claws around one wrist to prevent Obi-Wan from holding them. How he was able to sleep with Obi-Wan’s arms around him in that Saleucami cave was beyond him; all he remembered was feeling like an exploding star or like a puddle of molten metal. 

“Why don’t we look at the rest of the house? It has quite an interesting history,” Obi-Wan said with a classic Obi-Wan smile. “Would you like that?” Grievous nodded and followed him, noticing that his claws clanked against the smooth, cold tiles just a little too loudly for his liking. He tried to look at the house, tried to focus on the history of it and the surrounding forest that Obi-Wan was telling him, but found him unable to concentrate. He was sure that the story Obi-Wan was telling about how it was abandoned generations ago due to a Naboo-Gungan was interesting, but his mind was all over the place. All he could think about was how comforting Obi-Wan’s hand had felt in his and how gentle his words were moments ago. Obi-Wan’s hand had felt warm, gentle, and soft. He wanted to hold it again and feel its _organicness_ against his durasteel claws.

“This room will belong to whichever Jedi is here to monitor you,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to an open door that led into a small room with modest furnishings. “When I’m here, this door will always be open. I can talk, listen… anything you require in that realm. Your room is right across the way.” Obi-Wan gestured to another opened door at the end of the hallway, no more than twenty feet away from where they were standing. “I’ll be here if you need me. Whenever.” The pair shared a moment of tense eye contact, a moment that made Grievous aware of Obi-Wan’s attraction to him. If Grievous had leaned down and nuzzled the cheek of his mask against Obi-Wan’s head in the imitation of a kiss, it would have been natural. But Grievous held back― his insecurity was getting in the way. He wanted to summon the fearlessness from the cave into him now, but the Grievous from the cave seemed lightyears away now. Obi-Wan huffed, seemingly an end to the conversation, and retreated into his room, offering what appeared to be a flirtatious look at Grievous over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. 

Grievous was frozen in place as he tried to mentally register what had just happened in the hallway with Obi-Wan. It wouldn’t take knowledge of the Force to know that Obi-Wan was flirting with him; Grievous may no longer be an organic, adept with the politics of social interaction and courtship, but he wasn’t stupid. Obi-Wan was flirting with him in that distinctive Obi-Wan Kenobi way that he had long thought about and even discussed once with Asajj Ventress. Something about the way Obi-Wan phrased his invitation to talk and visit his room implied that he wanted a repeat of Saleucami.

He had half a mind to follow Obi-Wan into his room and pour out his heart to him. He wanted to tell him about his feelings for him, about Ronderu, and about how he really came to be a cyborg. In a fleeting moment of confidence, Grievous approached the door and held his hand over the doorknob, ready to grasp it and turn it open. But he couldn’t do it. He withdrew his hand and clenched his claws into a tight fist, mentally cursing himself for being so weak. 

As he walked down the hallway to his room, Grievous hung his head and groaned in annoyance. It was only their first day here together and he’d already ruined it by being emotionally and physically distant from Obi-Wan. There were two more weeks left of this― was he going to let each day look like this one? He didn’t want to distemper the atmosphere if he could help it. He, too, walked into his room and closed the door behind him without a word.

~~~~~

In the dark hours of night, after Grievous was certain Obi-Wan had gone to sleep, he stood up from his perch on the bed and scanned the room for a hiding place. On the back wall, under the writing desk pressed up against it, he spied a heating grate. It would be the perfect size, but it was quite the obvious place to hide something. It would have to do until Grievous found a better hiding place either by choice or out of necessity. Carefully, he crouched under the desk and opened the grate.

Once he was in a decently comfortable position, Grievous reached up into his breastplate and felt around for the small lightsaber he had hidden there. He pulled it free from the metal, breaking the weak soldering that held the hilt to his armor. He winced as it pulled on his touch receptors and sent a sting of pain through his chest. When he had successfully freed it, he held the lightsaber in his claws loosely, letting it gently roll back and forth in his palm as he admired it. It was a beautiful weapon: a pure white durasteel hilt, still shiny from disuse, silvery inlays and buttons, and a pale gold pommel. He closed his claws around it and fired it, watching as the blue blade shone bright and proud in the dim room. He hoped that the sound of it turning on didn’t wake Obi-Wan or alert one of the clones.

The saber was a youngling’s. It was the only one in his collection that belonged to a youngling. The youngling he had killed― no, murdered, that was the right word― for it was a young Nikto girl whom the Jedi were foolish enough to let accompany a Master and her Padawan. He’d stolen their sabers, too. Both were green; the Master’s was the typical silver and black durasteel but had a prism for the pommel, the Padawan’s was in the same style but with rose gold instead of silver with a spherical black pommel. The trio had had exceptionally beautiful sabers; he had them safely stored away and were not in his usual rotation. Grievous closed the blade and clutched the saber in his claws even tighter.

It was not the first time he felt guilt for murdering the youngling. He’d felt sick to his stomach after murdering her, and when he confided this to Count Dooku, he received a blow from the hilt of Dooku’s saber to his head. Dooku told him to stop being weak and to take pride in it since her death would send a message to the Jedi. If what he was told about the Niktos was true, a Force-sensitive of her kind was rare due to the politics between them and the Hutts. Her acceptance into the Jedi Order would have likely made her the pride of her tribe and people. The image of Dooku’s lips curling as he told Grievous that this saber could be used to taunt the Jedi in combat was haunting. He had listened to what Grievous said and relished in the murder for a short while, but now? He felt his stomach twist in disgust at the man, the _murderer_ he used to be.

Grievous couldn’t bear to think about the innocent girl’s murder any further. Even as a warlord, he would not have struck down a child; yes, the girl was technically armed, but she was so young. He had no quarrel with her, only the religion she was a part of. Why did she have to pay the price? He had taken a young life so full of promise, and for what? To sate his hatred of the Jedi and to add a new saber, one he could brag belonged to a youngling, to his collection. 

Grievous put the saber as far back in the grate as he could reach. He would keep it there until he absolutely needed it again, and he knew one day he might. As he closed up the grate, he tried to remember the Nikto youngling’s name.

 _It sounded fierce and fearless, how could I forget it?_ Grievous thought to himself. It started with a V in Basic, he knew that much. As he sealed up the saber’s tomb, he felt a wave of realization come over him. _Oh yes… Venganza. That was what her Master called out as I ran the blade through her body. Venganza._

~~~~~

The safe house was, on the exterior, vague and unassuming. It was in the heart of the Naboo jungle and thankfully obscured by tall trees and underbrush. Grievous and Obi-Wan had taken a tour of the building with the clones later on that first day to get a feel for the place, to let Grievous know where he could and couldn’t go. Grievous was surprised at how much freedom he was given to move about the area (so long as he had two clones on guard) but knew that it came at a price: helping the Republic defeat the Separatists. He didn’t have to be told that if he didn’t cooperate then the cuffs would come on, his movement would be restricted, and all the doors would be locked.

He was glad to be free of the Separatists’ exploitative grip, but he couldn’t help but feel like he had walked into the grip of the Republic, who may as well be the Separatists by another name. The only saving grace in all of this was Obi-Wan’s presence; if Obi-Wan hadn’t been there, this would be a very different situation. 

“Grievous, how are you feeling here?” Obi-Wan asked on the third day when they were walking through the grounds, the clones sitting on a wall far enough away so that they couldn’t hear but close enough to monitor the pair. Obi-Wan had knocked on his door earlier and asked if he wanted to go for a walk, to which Grievous accepted. Their walk had been mostly silent, with only Grievous’ coughs and Obi-Wan’s clinking lightsaber being heard. Grievous paused at Obi-Wan’s question. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Kenobi.”

“I mean do you feel comfortable? Do you need anything? How is your mind?” Obi-Wan placed his hand in that gentle, apologetic way on Grievous’ arm and looked up at him, trying to get an answer out of him. Grievous felt the touch sensors in his armor fire and vibrate; he was unused to touch like this, so gentle and caring. He had felt this way when Obi-Wan held him in the cave and held his hand. It was like a thousand suns blazing and the world spinning whenever Obi-Wan touched him. It didn’t hurt per se, but it burned. He wanted to lean into it and chase the touch, wanted to melt under it until he became nothing but molten durasteel.

“I… I don’t know yet,” Grievous said. He wanted to pull his arm away from Obi-Wan because he didn’t want the gentle touch to become forceful or rough. He was only used to pain and anger from the hands of others. It didn’t feel right to have Obi-Wan touch him, but the fact that it _was_ Obi-Wan touching him made him want it more. His heart pulled and tugged in a vicious dance with the rapidly-firing touch sensors on his arm. How could he feel so strongly about just a simple touch? “I’m just… I’m not used to others being particularly kind to me.” Grievous felt Obi-Wan twine their hands together and Obi-Wan’s other hand stroke his bicep in a loving, simple way that made Grievous want to scream.

“Is this okay?” Obi-Wan asked. He stopped and let go of Grievous’ hand and arm when he saw that Grievous was frozen in place, unable to even speak or breathe.

Was it? Was it okay? Did he deserve to be touched like this, did he deserve to be treated with respect? That word, respect, hung in his mind like a ton of bricks; Obi-Wan would certainly say he did, but Grievous knew that the victims of his actions and misdeeds (both living and dead) throughout the galaxy might disagree. And they were right: these arms and hands had killed thousands. Millions? He wasn’t sure. He was made to be a killing machine. He didn’t deserve to have this love or have this man. 

Underneath it all, Grievous sensed that Obi-Wan, too, wanted touch. He wanted _to_ touch. He knew the Jedi Order forbade attachments, so Obi-Wan was probably unused to having the luxury of being able to touch someone in this kind of loving, reverential way. You only touched someone like this if you felt attached to them. If you felt in love with them. Grievous felt Ronderu’s touch on his phantom arm and the flood of memories that followed: her positioning his arm to hold the blade during training, her helping him off the ground in the midst of battle, her stroking his arm in bed. He wished he was organic again so he could return the favor to Obi-Wan. He could sense Obi-Wan’s need to touch someone and be touched in return. How long had Obi-Wan felt like this?

“Yes?” Grievous responded, his voice unsure and gravelly. He tried to take a deep breath, but ended up coughing instead. They were standing impossibly close to each other now. Grievous let his claws curl around Obi-Wan’s biceps, careful not to tear his robes. Obi-Wan’s hands were resting on his forearms, urging him to be closer. Obi-Wan’s eyes, so impossibly blue and beautiful, looked up into his; they were full of expectation and eagerness. The air around them felt heavy and bubbled with anticipation. Grievous knew this moment could become a kiss; he wasn’t stupid. 

“Are you certain of it?” Obi-Wan asked. Their bodies were pressed against each other now. His thick robes concealed the shape of his body, but he could feel Obi-Wan’s fluttering heart against his armor. Obi-Wan’s voice was shaky and nervous. Grievous wondered if Obi-Wan had ever been this close to anyone before or had ever felt this kind of emotion before.

“I…” Grievous began. Their faces were getting close to each other. It seemed natural. But it didn’t feel right. Obi-Wan was here, full of light and love, but Grievous felt unsettled; who was he to think that Obi-Wan could love him? Could care for him? He was nothing. He was a killer. He didn’t deserve this.

“Grievous?” Obi-Wan whispered, his head tilted back as far as he could to even look up at Grievous. Grievous saw the artery in his neck pulse just a hair harder.

“I can’t do this right now.” Grievous let go of Obi-Wan and took a step away from him. His chest heaved and he breathed in heavily and rapidly. He pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head in disbelief. What was he doing? Why was Obi-Wan trying to get close to him? What right did Grievous have to receive this kind of attention? “I’ll be in my room.”

Grievous left the garden without another thought, abandoning Obi-Wan there with just his thoughts and a disheartened expression on his face.

~~~~~

Grievous stayed in his room after their nearly-romantic encounter in the garden for three days. He’d been here a week with Obi-Wan, a precious week that he couldn’t afford not to treasure, and he was wasting it. He was moping and sulking, two things he was already quite proficient at doing, alone in his room. He refused Obi-Wan entry into his room. He turned down offers to walk around the grounds again. He felt pathetic for letting Obi-Wan get to his head like this.

Every time Obi-Wan knocked on his door, Grievous felt a pang of anxiety go through his chest. He feared what Obi-Wan was going to ask him, even though he knew that Obi-Wan would never overstep a boundary or push too far. It’s just that Grievous, in his terminally self-deprecating mind, didn’t want to let himself get too close. He lost Ronderu when he thought he had her, had to see her murdered before his very eyes in a way no person should have to see a loved one die. He feared that the same would happen to Obi-Wan, _his_ Obi-Wan. Grievous knew better than to let himself get too attached to others; when they left, they always seemed to damage him.

Grievous would rather die than see his loved ones die in front of him again. 

But Obi-Wan still persisted in his check-ups of Grievous. Three times a day for three days, Obi-Wan quietly knocked and asked through the door, _would you want to eat, would you want to walk the grounds,_ or _do you just want to talk,_ his voice tender and his words mild. It tugged on Grievous’ heart because one part of him ached to be near Obi-Wan, but the other part of him was caught in a cycle of guilt and belittlement. Obi-Wan was always so endearing and persistent; even before they were together (Were they together? Could he call this being together?) Obi-Wan always wanted to know Grievous’ mind.

Grievous had half a mind to think that maybe Obi-Wan was the one who could help him. Maybe the reason why Obi-Wan was so persistent and so eager to know what was in his mind was because he wanted to help him, not be cruel to him. Count Dooku had only cared about his weaknesses so that he could exploit them. As the days wore on, Grievous began to recognize Obi-Wan’s persistence as a desire to help him heal, and then Grievous’ rejection of him became foolish and meaningless.

Although Grievous couldn’t tell why Obi-Wan wanted to help him still, he waited for Obi-Wan to knock on his door that third night. He sat with his back against the wall, right next to the door, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long to hear Obi-Wan’s knock and voice. “Grievous?” Grievous felt his heart seize up. He had been expecting this, but he still didn’t know how to act or what to do. He felt lost. He felt like his younger self with Ronderu, sheepishly approaching her tent to talk or to be close with her. “Grievous, I was wondering if you wanted to talk.”

“Yes,” Grievous replied, perhaps a little too quickly than acceptable. “Yes, I would like to talk.” Something in him hesitated, though. He didn’t want a repeat of three days ago, where he clammed up and couldn’t talk because they were in physical contact. “But stay outside the door. I… I need to be separate.”

“Alright.” He heard Obi-Wan settle down next to the door and lean against it. “So tell me. What happened out there on the grounds a few days ago?”

Grievous’ stomach dropped. Of course Obi-Wan would start with this question; he should have known better to expect Obi-Wan to go easily on him. He sighed in annoyance and let his head rest against the wall. He felt a cough bubble in his chest and let it out, feeling more than a little frustrated that his shit lungs were getting in the way of him producing a coherent sentence. “I haven’t been touched like that in… in decades, now, probably.”

“Hmm.” Grievous could practically see Obi-Wan thoughtfully stroking his beard and nodding. “And… this startled you?”

“Startled is an understatement,” Grievous scoffed. “I just can’t believe you’d actually want to touch me. Especially my hands.”

“I held you in the cave,” Obi-Wan said. Grievous smiled beneath his mask at the memory of that. “What makes you think that was a one-time event?” He had a point. “And why are you so ashamed of your hands?”

“My hands were made to kill,” Grievous said as he looked at the back of his left hand and turned it over. He unfurled and closed his claws a few times, watching them scrupulously. How many droids had he throttled with these claws? How many lightsabers had he snatched from unwitting Jedi? How many organics had he stolen life from? He clenched his fist and put it out of his sight. “The fact that you even want to hold them is surprising to me. I mean… you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi, the pride of the Jedi Order.” Grievous huffed in amusement. “And you want to spend your time with the one who ordered the murder of your friends.”

“I see past that, my dear Grievous,” Obi-Wan said. “Why can’t you see that? I knew from the beginning that you were just a pawn of Dooku’s. I knew that you were being hurt. Used. I couldn’t bear to see someone who was clearly a victim being used to do the things you did.”

“What I did for Dooku is beside the point,” Grievous said dismissively. “What I did to the Jedi… I did it for myself. It was my own personal revenge for the Jedi forcing us home with our tails between our legs.” Grievous sighed. “I don’t even know how many beings I’ve killed.”

“Have you never been able to talk? About any of this?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice full of concern. “I want you to know that… That I want to help you. I’m willing to do whatever it kriffing takes to make you see that you have value. That you are your own man.” His words made Grievous’ heart swell and burst with happiness. “You are not the mechanics. You are not the Separatist slave you were for Dooku. You are not the murderer you were.”

“Then what am I if I am not my past? My past has made me into the monster I am today.”

“It hasn’t,” Obi-Wan said eagerly. Grievous heard the rustling of his robes and armor as he adjusted his position against the door. “It was just the test you needed to become a new man.” Grievous pressed his hand against the door, yearning to be on the other side with Obi-Wan. “And we would have never met, and I would have never met the man who’s made me question everything I know.”

It shattered Grievous’ heart. Everything Obi-Wan was saying made his heart fill up with love and gratitude for the other man. He never imagined, even in his wildest dreams, that someone could see past the mask and the durasteel and into his mind.

“I think you’re the last person who believes in me.”

“No. I’m the first one who believes in you. And trust me,” Obi-Wan exhaled in disbelief, “once everyone gets to see the real you, the you that I see, they’ll believe in you, too.” If Grievous could cry, he would have. Obi-Wan was conjuring up emotions he hadn’t felt in so long. He thanked the gods, the gods he hadn’t prayed to or believed in for so long, for bringing him Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

“You’re welcome, Grievous.” Grievous heard Obi-Wan stand up and begin to walk away. Obi-Wan must have sensed that he needed time for himself, and he was thankful for it. He would go out of the room tomorrow morning.

~~~~~~

The next morning, Grievous found himself walking around the grounds again with Obi-Wan. He walked closer to Obi-Wan and didn’t let his fear of being touched hold him back. He was feeling less anxious today, likely because of their talk the night before. Grievous had had some time to process his typhoon of emotions, coming to the conclusion that if Obi-Wan was willing to take a chance on him and care for him, then he would accept it. No more holding back, no more denying his feelings. He had done a lifetime of that, and now that he was stuck in this safe house, trapped with nobody but his mind, he wanted to be free of that self-deprecating cycle he had become accustomed to.

Most of all, though, he wanted to be good for Obi-Wan.

And this morning as they walked, Grievous let their conversation become casual and familiar. He listened, fully engaged, as Obi-Wan told him a story about his former Padawan, Anakin Skywalker. He seemed an interesting enough lad, reckless and dedicated. He reminded Grievous of his younger self in more ways than one. Grievous couldn’t deny that his heart was aching to be with Obi-Wan in more ways than one. He wanted to be in his arms again, by his side… he was falling hard for him. Obi-Wan had Grievous’ heart in one fell swoop.

Grievous’ hand brushed Obi-Wan’s. He wanted to take it in his, squeeze it, and feel the touch sensors in his hands go haywire. He wanted to short circuit on the feeling of Obi-Wan pressed against him. He needed more than just their hands and arms touching. Like earlier this week, he wanted to be molten durasteel at the touch of Obi-Wan’s hands. Obi-Wan teased his fingers between Grievous’ claws, but once again, Grievous felt too nervous and pulled them away. Not yet. He couldn’t stand to do that just yet.

Such was their routine for the next week: walk the grounds in the morning, take a midday meal together-- well, Obi-Wan ate, Grievous watched him eat and provided him with some company-- on the back patio, and talk in the early evening in either Obi-Wan or Grievous’ room. They kept up talking through the door for a few days at Obi-Wan’s request-- he didn’t know for sure if the Order had any cameras inside monitoring the doors and didn’t want them watching him go in and out of Grievous’ room-- but the pair abandoned that prospect after discovering there were, in fact, no cameras.

And yet, every time they walked, their hands would graze each other and Grievous itched to hold Obi-Wan’s. They would talk late into the night and Obi-Wan would smile or laugh and Grievous’ heart burned to take Obi-Wan’s face in his hands and kiss him. They would have a lull in the conversation after being open and honest, and their faces would get closer, but Grievous would pull back and they would be done for the night. Grievous didn’t know how he could have been so bold in the cave, removing his mask and kissing Obi-Wan and sharing a blanket all on the same night. He chalked it up to a moment of weakness, not to be repeated until he felt like he could trust Obi-Wan.

But Obi-Wan had bared his soul to him, too. Told him all about his training at the Temple as a Youngling, about Master Yoda, about his old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. He even shared that he almost didn’t become a Padawan, a conversation that ended with Obi-Wan in tears and Grievous heartbroken for the other man. He couldn’t imagine Obi-Wan as anything other than the man he saw before him now. Slowly, Grievous was finding it harder and harder to hold back his reservations about pursuing a… a something with Obi-Wan.

“What are we, Grievous?” Obi-Wan asked him the night before he was scheduled to leave. “What are we? We’ve shared so much together, we’ve talked about our deepest fears and worries and dreams, but… but you hold back. I know you’re holding something back.” Obi-Wan closed his hand over Grievous’ claws and looked longingly at him. Grievous couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“We…” Grievous held his tongue. _We are everything. We are bonded. We are star-crossed, my love, we are meant to take this galaxy by storm,_ Grievous wanted to say. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked askance. He couldn’t look Obi-Wan in the eyes when he was this embarrassed.

“Tell me,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out and cradling Grievous’ face in his hand. He looked back into Obi-Wan’s eyes and leaned into the blissful feeling of his hand against his cheek. Grievous felt his eyes burn with the threat of tears; if he could cry, he would be a wreck right now, breaking down into Obi-Wan’s lap and begging forgiveness like he did the day he surrendered. “Don’t hold back with me. Tell me everything.”

“I feel like I don’t deserve you, Obi-Wan.” He closed his hand over Obi-Wan’s and guided him to the button to remove the mask. He heard Obi-Wan’s breath hitch in his throat. He knew that Obi-Wan knew this was a vulnerable, intimate moment. “But this last week has shown me that… maybe I do.”

The mask hissed as Obi-Wan and Grievous removed the mask together. Their eyes were locked onto each other, their breaths became heavier, and their proximity increased as the moment dragged on. There was tension in the air. It was covering them like a warm, worn blanket full of memories and love.

“I’ve never wanted to hear those words more, Grievous,” Obi-Wan said with a tearful smile. Grievous, too, smiled in response. He finally felt like he could be at peace with Obi-Wan, like he could be the man he knew Obi-Wan saw in him.

“So what else do you want then, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Grievous asked as he took Obi-Wan’s face in his hands. 

“Well, I want to be yours.” He pressed their mouths together in a kiss, one that was less chaste than the one from the cave. He moved his lips against Obi-Wan’s, feeling the love between them blossom and their attachment grow stronger. Obi-Wan leaned into the kiss with more force than Grievous thought possible in his slight body and wrapped his arms around Grievous’ armor. They finally broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed, and wordlessly gazed into each others’ eyes.

“I want to be yours, too.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grievous and Obi-Wan get into a groove and settle into domestic life at the safe house.

Thinking about Obi-Wan returning always summoned two different, polar feelings in Grievous: happiness and loneliness. The schedule that dictated Obi-Wan was on assignment at the safe house every three months was both too rigid for Grievous’ liking and a comfort because of the routine it offered. Barring any discourse on whether or not the schedule was constricting or freeing, Grievous missed having Obi-Wan within arm’s reach when he was gone. They went from spending most hours of the day with each other to not even being able to talk for three months at a time. It was lonesome and depressing to say the very least. 

Even though he lived with the other Jedi and talked with them occasionally, Obi-Wan was still the only Jedi that Grievous felt safe confiding in. He couldn’t (well, wouldn’t was the better word) walk through the grounds with them and talk late into the night about the war, morality, history. He certainly couldn’t sleep next to the other Jedi and fall asleep in their arms every night; that was a luxury he only afforded with Obi-Wan. No other Jedi understood Grievous in the way that Obi-Wan did and would probably never reach that level of empathy and understanding, no matter how many times they talked. It was because Obi-Wan was the only one who cared enough to reach out to him and try to get through years of trauma and pain to tell him that he was being exploited by Dooku.

Grievous wished that Obi-Wan would burst through the doors and announce that he was on permanent assignment here until further notice, but it was just that: a wish, a fantasy. The Senate, and especially the Council with their rules against attachment, would never allow it. Master Windu had told him once, off-handedly, that the Senate wanted his arrest to be harsher and more formalized. The Senate had introduced the idea of moving him to the Citadel where he would likely be subject to torture and have little contact with others. The Council had shot that down, and for the first time, Grievous felt as if he could trust them. 

As the months wore on, Grievous found his sentiments softening towards the Masters who were put on assignment here. They reminded Grievous that there was a world, a whole _galaxy_ outside this prison. Their stories, told hesitantly but with an undeniable sense of eagerness, kept Grievous’ mind from slipping. Master Plo Koon always had a funny story about his legion, Master Windu a bit of gossip, Master Secura a piece of philosophy that she’d read on the way to Naboo. Even Master Yoda, who seemed a bit of an oddball at first, was an interesting discussion partner and always left Grievous pondering over whatever sage words he’d said that day. 

Some of the Masters and Knights had a Padawan in tow, many of which were younger than any Padawan Grievous had ever encountered; the war was clearly taking a toll on the Jedi Order as they lost Masters and Knights left and right. The Padawans always seemed interested in his mechanics and approached him with less hesitation than their Masters, which was welcome. They reminded him of what Venganza could have been.

But when Obi-Wan was there, it was a completely different story. With Obi-Wan, Grievous could forget that there was a war outside this prison. He could forget that he was in a prison and pretend that he was living an idyllic, domestic life instead. He felt happy, a feeling he didn’t know if he had ever felt before, when Obi-Wan was at his side. If he had ever been happy, it must have been long ago, before the mechanics. He’d lost a lot of memories (if not all of them) when the Martyr exploded and had no reason to feel joy after receiving the mechanics.

Sometimes, Grievous thought about how Obi-Wan would react if he saw him before all of the mechanics, with his organic, warrior’s body. Ronderu had fallen in love with it; Obi-Wan would have certainly been attracted to it, too. His body, though it had been assigned female when he was born, was sculpted and built to fight regardless of what gender Grievous identified with. It was common and accepted among the Kaleesh— or at least, more common and more accepted than it was in other species— to change one’s gender identity as they grew into themselves. So long as the child could fight, the Kaleesh saying went, they were a blessing to the tribe. Worth was placed on ability to fight, not gender. Grievous was a marvel back then, sculpted with muscle and a metaphorical machine in his own right. He took great pride in his body when he was young since it gave him his ability to fight in battle.

It was strange. It really was. Despite the mechanics, Obi-Wan revered him and touched his armor like he was a relic. Grievous thought that the mechanics made him ugly, hideous, monstrous; Obi-Wan didn’t seem to mind them. He was attracted to him in every sense of the word despite the durasteel, but how he managed to see past the literal and metaphorical wall the armor created was beyond Grievous’ comprehension.

(Grievous took great interest in watching Obi-Wan and the other Jedi clean and polish their lightsabers. They held them carefully and ran soft rags over them until they shone, taking great care in their appearance. Grievous understood that desire; he had done the same with his collection. He’d watched the clones clean their blasters, armor, helmets. They handled them the same way the Jedi handled their lightsabers: with the utmost reverence. That was the way Obi-Wan touched him― like he was the most important thing in the world to him.)

“I was considered quite handsome. I was even seen as a demigod,” Grievous whispered to Obi-Wan as they lay in bed one night. Obi-Wan chuckled at that, clearly amused at the thought of Grievous being worshipped as a god. “But now… now I’m nothing but scrap metal. Scrap metal and a gutsack. How do you find me attractive, how can you care about me? I’m nothing.” Grievous coughed, a reminder that his body was broken down and the shadow of its former glory. While other species may welcome the mechanic upgrades and may even submit to them voluntarily, the Kaleesh did not; it was not an enhancement or an improvement: it was the stripping away of the very thing that gave a warrior their strength. 

“I certainly don’t see you as nothing,” Obi-Wan insisted. He sat up in the bed, looming just barely above Grievous’ reclined body. “I see you only as a man. A man who’s managed to survive the toughest trials of life and survive. You are _not_ your armor or mechanics, Grievous.” Obi-Wan grasped Grievous’ hand tightly and looked deeply into his eyes. He frowned in dissatisfaction as he gathered his words and let out a short huff. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do, my dear.”

Grievous couldn’t help but smile when Obi-Wan talked to him like that, full of admiration and praise. If anything, Obi-Wan’s words were certainly a nice sentiment. He always felt cared for when Obi-Wan said his gentle, assuring words. He wanted to say he felt loved, but they weren’t there yet. Not quite. Grievous knew he loved Obi-Wan, and had a strong feeling Obi-Wan loved him back, but why they hadn’t said it yet was lost on Grievous. He loved Obi-Wan with his whole heart (or, at least, what was left of it), and wanted Obi-Wan to know it, but feared rejection. Even though Obi-Wan never treated Grievous like he was a simple fling, the betraying voice in the back of Grievous’ mind said Obi-Wan would never admit it because of the Jedi’s rules on attachments. Saying _I love you_ aloud might make Obi-Wan’s resolve as a Jedi compromised. He tried not to think about the hypotheticals too much for fear they would manifest.

Grievous prayed that Obi-Wan would never treat him in the way the dark place in his mind said he would.

~~~~~

There was the matter of the clones to consider. 

At first, the clones and Grievous kept their distance from each other. This was an unusual arrangement to begin with and both parties were hesitant to approach each other in any situation other than a purely formal one. The clones and Jedi were far more chummy with each other than they ever were with Grievous. Grievous only ever approached them to request time to walk around the grounds. When he first met them, the clones projected a self-important air and showed off with their weapons, doing target practice with old jars at first and homemade targets later. Grievous chalked their overcompensation up to being young, inexperienced soldiers who thought they were hot stuff for being assigned to watch the infamous war criminal, General Grievous.

The small squadron of five, who took to calling themselves the Extinction Squad, were… an odd bunch. They were unconventional in every sense, from their penchant of going around without a helmet (save for when Master Yoda was on assignment) to their commander. Grievous had never encountered another clone before like the commander, who, for starters,  _ she  _ went by Sam. Despite the obvious pronoun difference from her brothers, Commander Sam was treated with the same respect as any other officer and held up to the same standards of soldiering as her fellow clones. It wasn’t until later, after a series of curious questions to Master Yoda about why there was a female clone assigned here, that he found out Sam was like Ronderu in that she was assigned male when she was born and now identified as female. Grievous felt kinship with her after that.

Sam’s most defining traits were the blue marking on her face, under her eyes, that looked like a starburst; or maybe they were supposed to be tears. He didn’t know. Regardless of what they were, they made her face all the more striking.

Their second in command was Blank, a lovable yet grumpy clone who clung to Sam’s side like the good, loyal soldier he was supposed to be. He’d heard Blank complain before about being assigned all the way out on a bum assignment and would never see any action, but as time passed, found that he was a man who took great pride in his role as a clone. Korri, Course, and Brake were a trio of literal stooges who stopped at nothing to have a good time; they were the ones always goofing off and playing pranks on everyone. They got along with Master Yoda, who sometimes levitated rocks or fruits for them to shoot at. Course and Blank were practically joined at the hip and called each other twins; they had head markings, too, matching ones. The band of siblings was one of the most unconventional ones Grievous had ever seen.

The way Grievous became close with the clones was one part of a long series of strange events that began with Grievous telling Obi-Wan he missed hearing his voice. It was the tail end of his third assignment, when Grievous felt himself wishing that the two weeks could go on forever. When he confessed that he was going to miss Obi-Wan and his voice, Obi-Wan ducked away to his room for a minute and returned with something obviously hidden in his palm. He looked around himself, gauging if the coast was clear, and then opened his palm. It was a pocket commlink.

“I was going to give this to you when I left, but I may as well give it to you now,” Obi-Wan whispered with a mischievous smile on his face. Grievous’ eyes widened in shock as he took the comm from Obi-Wan’s hand and held it carefully in his claws, eyeing it. It was small, discreet, and easy to hide. “Put it away, just in case someone comes by.” Grievous tucked it inside the armor of his left forearm for safekeeping.

“Is it on a secure frequency?” Grievous asked, closing his claws over the forearm that concealed the comm. He felt reckless having the secret comm to cement their secret relationship. This added little secret made him feel closer to Obi-Wan.

“Yes, I made sure of that. It’s a secure device, too,” Obi-Wan assured him, nudging his arm with his elbow. “We don’t have to worry. Nobody will be listening and I can assure you it’s not bugged.” Grievous smiled beneath his mask and let Obi-Wan twine their fingers together. Obi-Wan brought their hands up to his lips and he pressed a quick kiss to the joints of Grievous’ claws. “I trust that you won’t use this to contact the Separatists to come and spirit you away from here?” Obi-Wan asked him with a wink.

“I have no reason to talk to them anymore,” Grievous said with a steely voice. He withdrew his hands from Obi-Wan’s grasp and pressed the button at his jaw that removed the mask. He coughed as the air hissed out and he was exposed to the unfiltered air of the room. He still wasn’t used to removing his mask, but he always did when he wanted Obi-Wan to his face and know when he was being genuine. He would only remove the mask for Obi-Wan. 

“They were holding me back. Using me.  _ Exploiting  _ me.” Grievous narrowed his eyes, focusing on the bright blue of Obi-Wan’s irises. He held onto Obi-Wan’s bicep with his free hand, holding him so close that he could feel the other man’s chest rising and falling with each breath. He may have heard Obi-Wan’s breath catch when he wrapped his claw possessively around his arm. “They kept me in a constant fight with you because they knew you could save me if given the right chance.” Grievous dropped his mask so that he could cradle the back of Obi-Wan’s head in his hand, loving the little gasp he let out. Obi-Wan smiled up at him, in awe of Grievous’ forwardness and openness. “Why would I ever talk to them if I have you?”

“You make a compelling point, my dear,” Obi-Wan said with a wide smile and a breathless voice. They broke the tension with a kiss, a passionate one that Grievous poured his whole soul into. While this moment might have seemed strange to others, after all, it was  _ just _ a commlink, but to Grievous? This wasn’t just about a comm. It was about being able to talk and connect despite the time and distance. He’d already spent six standard months away from Obi-Wan with radio silence from him between their designated two weeks. 

This comm offered respite from the long, lonely nights in hyperspace or on house arrest when the forest was silent. He wouldn’t know if Obi-Wan got injured out in the field or got put on a special mission and be able to talk to him one last time. He was fortunate that right now, he could hold Obi-Wan in his arms and kiss him, but for most of the time that was not the case. He treated every kiss with Obi-Wan like it was the last one. He could get hurt.  _ Could get killed,  _ the dark part of Grievous’ mind supplied. He feared the day Obi-Wan didn’t return.

When they finally pulled apart, Obi-Wan helped Grievous put his mask back on, being mindful of his tusks. Once it was securely on, they pressed their foreheads together for a moment, allowing themselves just another few seconds to be close like this. Grievous smiled to himself beneath his mask and felt a surge of happiness well up in his chest. He was elated at the thought of being able to talk to Obi-Wan when he missed him or wanted to hear his voice now. He knew that Obi-Wan would be busy with the war and his assignments, but the mere  _ option _ of being able to talk to him when they were separated was reassuring. 

It had only taken Grievous three-quarters of a standard day to break down and call Obi-Wan on their secure frequency. It was the middle of the night, long after he suspected Master Secura to be asleep, when he called him. Grievous let out a short huff, trying to shake off the nervousness he felt about calling Obi-Wan. He finally pressed the button on the comm and waited to hear the static stop. His heart beat quick and fast against the synthskin of his gutsack.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Grievous?” Obi-Wan’s voice crackled on the other end of the line.  _ He must be in hyperspace right now,  _ Grievous thought to himself. 

Grievous let out a happy sigh, glad to hear that Obi-Wan was on the other line. “It’s just good to hear your voice.” He coughed a few short coughs. “I can’t believe I miss you already.”

“I miss you, too,” Obi-Wan said mournfully. “I really wish we didn’t have to be separated for so long.”

“Kriff, you could say that again.” He could practically see Obi-Wan’s bright, sparkling smile in front of him. “You know, you looked so endearing today when you were rushing around and couldn’t find your journal. Your hair was falling in your eyes and you had this furrow in your brow… I may have to hide it again just to see it.”

“You think me panicking is endearing, my darling?” Obi-Wan said with a smirk in his voice. Grievous chuckled deep in his throat.

“I do. Very much so,” Grievous said with a similar smirk on his face. There was a pause, a silent one, that Grievous found he didn’t mind. Both men were there, simply breathing slowly and sitting with each other, and yet it was full of unspoken feelings and affection. For anyone else this silence may have been too awkward or too strange, but for them, it was reassuring. Grievous wanted to say he loved Obi-Wan, but held back. He wanted to say it in person. They ended the night talking about Obi-Wan's next assignment and where it would take him. It became routine for them, talking every other night about the events of the day and about how they felt.

These nightly phone calls were not lost on Commander Sam. Her scanner picked up on the calls and pinged wildly, but she assumed that it was just whichever Jedi on assignment making a call back to the Council since it showed that the calls were on a secure frequency. But then the calls started happening when she knew Master Secura or Master Windu were talking with Blank or her brothers. The only one it could be was General Grievous. This was exactly what she prayed wouldn’t happen; this had been going on without her knowledge and under her nose for nearly a month now. 

Sam knew she should report these calls to the Council, but she had a feeling that this could be explained. There was something deeper here that she might be able to uncover with a bit of sleuthing. Sam may not have had much experience in the realm of romance, but she wasn’t a stupid woman: the generals Kenobi and Grievous were horribly conspicuous with each other. She’d seen General Kenobi slip into General Grievous’ room and vice versa. Stars, she’d seen them kissing on the grounds in broad daylight. She had the suspicion that they were using a secure frequency to talk to each other. 

With the right finagling and de-encryption program, the frequency would be easy to crack and listen in on. 

How Sam told the story was that she only had to wait one night before catching them on the comm together. She called her brothers into her room to come and listen, too, and they all crowded around the datapad to listen in. If you asked Grievous, though, he would tell you that she’d probably been listening for days already and that Sam was just pretending she’d heard their first big “I love you” on that first shot.

(In truth, though, it was by chance that Sam had tuned in to hear Grievous break down and say “I love you.” In Grievous and Obi-Wan’s defense, the conversation  _ had  _ started tamely.)

_ “Obi-Wan, I… I don’t know what to say.” _

_ “This is getting boring. Sam, I--” Course began to say, but Brake punched his shoulder and shushed him loudly. _

_ “Just say what’s on your mind.” _

_ “If you knew what was on my mind, you probably wouldn’t want me anymore.” _

_ “Oh, this is good, this is good,” Sam said as she turned the volume louder and her brothers pressed in closer, holding their breaths in expectation. _

_ “...probably not that bad. Just tell me.” Obi-Wan replied to Grievous. The line was silent for a moment. “Grievous… I sense your nervousness. I can sense that your heart just spiked.” _

_ “Kriffin’ hells, no wonder they tell Jedi not to have attachments, those words could charm the pants off a senator,” Korri said with a laugh. _

_ “Shut up, shut up, I wanna hear what they’re gonna say!” Blank said, punching Korri’s shoulder playfully. _

_ “...think I love you.” _

_ Sam clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my stars, I can’t believe this.” _

_ “Grievous, I… I never thought I’d hear you say that.” _

_ All five clones gaped in shock and stared at each other in awe at what was happening. Sam could barely believe her ears. Deciding that enough was enough, she turned off the scanner and unplugged it from her datapad, despite the protestations from her brothers. She’d give the love birds some peace tonight.  _

Sam had approached him the next day, her helmet tucked under her arm and above her hip, in the main room. Grievous had looked at her questioningly; she had never come to him before like this. She had a determined look on her face but her gait looked a tad more anxious. 

“Is something wrong, Commander Sam?” Grievous asked, standing up from the stool where he was perched. He sensed that she felt intimidated, because she took a meek step back and when she tilted her eyes up to his face, she froze. It was only for a moment, but she froze in her tracks.    
“I… I’m willing to keep quiet about it if you are.” Sam gulped. “I heard. Last night. Between you and General Kenobi. The secure frequency was not as secure as you thought. It’s been popping up on my scanner practically every night.”

Grievous’ heart stopped beating for a moment and an uncomfortable lump formed in his throat. He didn’t know what to say or even what words to summon up in defense. It just seemed so shocking that she would even bring it up and be willing to keep it a secret to boot. By all senses of logic, the frequency should’ve been secure and if it had been cracked like he assumed it had been, Sam should’ve reported it to the Jedi on duty. 

“What are you even…”

“I wouldn’t try to deny it,” Sam said with a flat smile. “General Grievous, I won’t say anything. I swear it.”

Grievous considered her words. This would offer him and Obi-Wan a little more freedom, give them an out. It would be a weight lifted off their shoulders. They wouldn’t have to hide around the clones like they were younglings or criminals. It would be okay.

“Thank you, Commander Sam,” Grievous said with a nod. 

“Please,” Sam said with a chuckle as she put her helmet back on. “It’s just Sam.”

~~~~~

The night Grievous told Obi-Wan he loved him began as a mundane, quiet thing. There was nothing special about it other than the fact that Obi-Wan had a whole evening free, which meant he and Grievous could talk for a longer time tonight. Grievous closed the bedroom door behind him and made sure to lock it (though why he bothered to lock it when a Jedi could easily unlock it was beyond him) before going to the metal grate where he hid the lightsaber and the commlink. 

(Every night he went to the grate and saw the lightsaber, Grievous was reminded of what he might have to do one day if the Separatists won, if the Republic and Council turned against him, if Obi-Wan never came back. Grievous doubted, though, if he’d be able to have a peaceful end to his life. He’d been too evil throughout his life to warrant an easy death.)

Once he had the commlink in hand, Grievous perched himself on the cushioned stool he had become fond of. He turned it on, heard the fuzzy line, and then the _click_ that let him know that Obi-Wan had picked up the commlink. There was a brief burst of fear, one that Grievous felt every time he called Obi-Wan, that someone would intercept the frequency and say he was under arrest. 

“Hello, my dear,” came Obi-Wan’s voice from the other side of the line.

Thankfully, Grievous’ fears were not confirmed tonight.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Grievous replied. “How was your day? Are you on the trail now?”

“We leave tomorrow. I was given tonight to take care of business and decompress before we start the mission.” Grievous heard Obi-Wan settling into a bed or couch.

“Am I business or decompression, Kenobi?” Grievous teased, a quiet chuckle in the back of his throat. Obi-Wan laughed a similar laugh in response.

“How about we go with decompression, dear?”

Grievous smiled to himself, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “You always know what to say.”

“Well, you’ll like what I have to say next: the intelligence you gave us matched up with other reports and you have the full trust of the Council now. That’s why we’re leaving so quickly.” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded proud and pleased. “Hopefully you can rest a little easier now because of that. I know you feel nervous around some of the other Masters.”

“At the very least, it makes me feel less wary,” Grievous said with a nod. Having the Council’s trust was important to him and would hopefully prevent him from going around in fear all of the time. But Grievous wasn’t a fool; he knew that even if the Council said they supported him, individual Jedi could personally have problems with him. 

“Maybe now you can start talking with the other Masters,” Obi-Wan suggested. “I could talk to Master Windu or Master Plo Koon… I’m sure they’d be willing to bring you more books or another datapad.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Grievous sighed dejectedly. “It’s just that I only want to be with you.” 

“I know you do.” There was a pause in the conversation. Both felt on the verge of words to break the building pressure, but there was something that stopped them both from speaking. Grievous had the feeling that Obi-Wan would crack first, though.

“Is there something you wanted to say, Obi-Wan?” Grievous asked nervously. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear or not, but the tension had to break sooner or later.

“We won’t be able to talk when I’m out in the field, my dear.” He heard Obi-Wan swallow the lump in his throat and let out a sad sigh. “ This will probably be our last time talking for a while and… if we have to go undercover, I won’t be able to come to the safe house this time.”

If Grievous could cry, he would have. The possibility of not being able to see Obi-Wan at their usual time made him feel undeniably hollow inside. And what if… what if he died when he was on the mission? What would happen then? Yes, he had the trust of the Council, but life wasn’t worth it if Obi-Wan wasn’t there. 

“Obi-Wan, I don’t know what to say.” Grievous put his head in his hand and groaned in distress. He went into a coughing fit, resenting his worn-out lungs for not being able to use themselves properly. His heart felt so heavy right now. This. This was everything he feared. Everything he didn’t want. “I’m scared you won’t come back.”

“Just say what’s on your mind.”

 _Kriff Obi-Wan Kenobi for wanting me to be honest with him,_ Grievous thought to himself. _I really didn’t want to tell him now. Not like this. But what if I don’t get another chance to tell him?_ Grievous felt dread go through him as he thought about how he’d feel if he never got the chance to tell Obi-Wan he loved him. This may be the last time they talk, like Obi-Wan had said.

“If you knew what was on my mind, you probably wouldn’t want me anymore.” Grievous ran a hand over his sore neck and hung his head. He was sick of his own self-pity, but he didn’t want Obi-Wan to reject him or tell him he wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship with him because of the a) threat of possible death and b) the whole Jedi attachments nonsense. 

“It’s probably not that bad. Just tell me.” Obi-Wan said. The line was silent for just a moment too long, and the bubble of tension building was close to popping. Grievous stammered and felt his heartbeat increase. He didn’t want to say it but he didn’t want to regret not saying it, either. “Grievous… I sense your nervousness. I can sense that your heart just spiked.”

Grievous swallowed his pride and figured that he had nothing left to lose. Obi-Wan probably even knew what he was going to say right now, too.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi… I think I love you.” Grievous held his breath in anticipation for what he would say next.

“Grievous, I… I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Obi-Wan’s voice was full of affection (and even sounded a little star-struck). “I love you, too.”

“You do?” Grievous said, maybe a little too eagerly.  
“Yes, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I, my dear?” Obi-Wan let out a small, bright-sounding chuckle. 

“I don’t know.” Grievous sighed, but he had a smile on his face; he couldn’t believe that Obi-Wan actually loved him back, had actually said it to him. “I guess I was just worried that you wouldn’t want to commit like _that_ with me.”

“I said that I wanted to be yours all those months ago,” Obi-Wan said with a smile in his voice. “Of course I love you, of course I want to be with you.” Grievous felt his heart grow infinitely lighter. He felt as if he could take on anything in the galaxy right now.

“Because I love you, I’m going to say this,” Grievous said with an affectionate tone, but with some underlying sternness, “this better not be the last time I get to say I love you. Come back to Naboo.”

“I will do my very best to ensure that I am out of harm’s way, my dear Grievous.”

~~~~~

Obi-Wan returned, safe and sound, three days shy of the day he was due to go back to the safe house on Naboo. Sam had received a transmission in the middle of the night from the Council to report that Master Kenobi would be coming to the safe house on his regular schedule. She delivered Grievous the message with a wink, letting him know that she was in support of them. Grievous had to pretend like it was any other message, but deep inside he was rightfully excited. 

When Obi-Wan’s ship touched down on the front lawn of the safe house, it took everything Grievous had in him to not run through the door, down the steps, and across the grass and meet him in an embrace. Master Billaba was watching, after all, and he didn’t want to risk looking eager or over-excited at Obi-Wan’s arrival. Through the transparisteel window, he noticed a bacta strip on Obi-Wan’s forehead, likely covering up some scar he earned out in the field. _Good. All in one piece,_ Grievous thought to himself as he watched Master Billaba and Obi-Wan chat on the lawn.

“Grievous? Are you in here somewhere?” 

He perked up and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the voice he heard in the main room. He exited his room quickly and once he was in the doorframe of the main room, he was finally able to get a clear, up-close look at the other man, in his long brown Jedi’s robe and bacta stripped forehead. If Grievous could use the Force, he probably would have sensed Obi-Wan’s joy and love in this moment; it was times like this he wished he was a Force user, so that he could feel what Obi-Wan was feeling and have what he called a _Force bond_ with him.

“Obi-Wan, I…” Grievous started, but began to cough. Obi-Wan walked up to him as he coughed and laid a gentle hand on his forearm as he coughed. His touch sensors hummed, and he felt the soothing sensation of Obi-Wan’s touch radiate through his whole arm and into his chest. His coughing subsided and he was finally able to speak. “I’m glad to see you again.”

“I’m glad to see you again, too, my love,” Obi-Wan replied, with his signature winning smile plastered across his face. He took Grievous’ hands in his and pressed kisses to the backs of them, wanting to treasure this moment. The thought that Obi-Wan had gone for weeks in the field not being able to talk to him, much less touch or kiss him like this, must’ve been difficult; it’d been difficult for Grievous, too. Obi-Wan held Grievous’ hands against his cheek and nuzzled his beard affectionately against them. It tugged on Grievous’ heart.

“Obi-Wan, what’s the matter?”

  
“I just didn’t realize it would feel so nice to be back with you again after that mission,” Obi-Wan confessed, clearly holding back a sniffle. Grievous broke his hands free from Obi-Wan’s grasp and held the other man’s face in them instead. He made sure to keep the points of his claws away from the important, fleshy bits of Obi-Wan’s face (a mistake he did not want to repeat again― he’d accidentally sliced Obi-Wan’s lip when holding his face once) and looked deep into his eyes.

“You’re here now. I’m here now. _We’re_ here now. There’s no need to have such a long face,” Grievous said, need bleeding through his words. Obi-Wan smiled through his watery eyes and stood higher on his toes to press a kiss against the grille of Grievous’ mask. Grievous smiled beneath his mask as the touch sensors in the metal tingled happily. He had missed this. A lot. There was nowhere he’d rather be than right here in this moment.

That night, Obi-Wan and Grievous were holed up in Grievous’ room, sitting on top of the bedsheets and cuddled together. Grievous had his head in Obi-Wan’s lap with his face staring up at the ceiling as Obi-Wan ran gentle, loving fingers over his chest plate. He felt so content, so at peace; he always felt like this when Obi-Wan was with him. He actually felt safe and secure; only Ronderu had made him feel like this. 

Ronderu. 

Ronderu would hate to see him like this, pitying himself and getting stuck in his own head. She would want him to be enjoying this moment with his lover and savoring it. He thought back to the long nights where they would talk and be vulnerable or take off their masks to kiss and touch each other, _truly_ touch each other. She’d known his old body, the organic one that marked him as a warrior. Obi-Wan had only ever known mechanics and cool, unyielding metal.

In a moment of vulnerability, Grievous spoke up.

“Qymaen.”

“What, Grievous?” Obi-Wan’s hand stilled and he looked more directly into Grievous’ eyes.

“My real name. Well, the name I had before the mechanics. It was Qymaen.”

“Why did you change it?”

Grievous knew the question Obi-Wan asked would’ve been inevitable, but even after all these years it hurt to talk about the change since it was wrapped up with Ronderu’s murder and the murder of his organic body. He swallowed the lump that lodged itself in his throat and looked away from Obi-Wan’s gaze. He didn’t want the other man to see the pain in his eyes.

“The… woman. The woman I was in love with, who trained me, she… she was murdered in front of my eyes by our enemy, the huks,” Grievous said solemnly. “Her soul was so tied to mine that when she died, nothing could fill the hole she left in my chest. We were the Sheelal… without her I was nothing. None of the other men or women, none of the power could make me feel whole again. And back then, I was known as Qymaen.”

“Stars… Grievous, I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said, shocked by the weight of Grievous’ words. 

“When I asked the gods of my people to let me see her one more time, they denied me. They refused to let me see the love of my life again.” Grievous felt a coughing fit rising in his chest, but suppressed it. He didn’t want his words to be ruined by this kriffing cough. “And I took up the name Grievous for her. My grief has consumed me since she died and has never let up.”

“I had a woman like that once. Satine. We were on the run for a year when I was a boy. We fell in love and I nearly left the Order for her,” Obi-Wan said with a forlorn voice. “I won’t pretend to know your pain because my situation was so different but… I understand.”

Grievous clutched Obi-Wan’s hand in his own and looked back up at him, his yellow eyes full of gratitude; Obi-Wan’s blue eyes were tender and shone with the light of a million twinkling stars. To know that Obi-Wan empathized with him and understood him in this way made his heart fill with even more love than he thought possible.

“And back then, I… I became someone I didn’t want to be. Someone I knew Ronderu didn’t want me to be. I worked for the Banking Clan, I became violent, I started war again with the Huks. And in doing so, I destroyed my body.” Grievous’ voice got shaky and he felt scared. Nervous. He had not ever told the story of how he received his mechanics to another being before. He told others that they were voluntary, that he had wanted them all along to cover up the pain of having to say that Dooku forced him to get the _improvements_ that would “save his life” and “advance him” as a warrior. “The Republic they… they bombed my ship. The Martyr. Or at least that’s what Dooku told me, I don’t know if that’s true or not. But all I do know is blacking out and waking up stars know how long later, screaming in pain and in a body I didn’t recognize.”

Obi-Wan’s face was covered in tears and he was shaking. Grievous gripped Obi-Wan’s hand and sat up,making them deepen their eye contact with each other. He didn’t want to see his love like this. He didn’t want Obi-Wan to cry; there was nothing he could have done back then to save him or protect him. 

“Grievous, I… I had no idea.” Obi-Wan sobbed. He wrapped his arms around Grievous and Grievous allowed himself to be held in Obi-Wan’s strong, assuring (organic) arms. He hugged him back and buried his mask in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, inhaling his scent; he smelled like an organic, free of all the metal and oil and smoke that a mechanic smelled like. “Grievous, I will never let this happen to you again. Never be afraid to tell me anything, my love.” They broke their hug and Obi-Wan held Grievous’ face in his hands, letting his fingers drift to the button that would remove the mask. “I want to see your face.”

Grievous nodded and closed his eyes as the mask hissed off and was removed. Obi-Wan grazed his fingertips along Grievous’ chin and brushed against his tusks. Grievous felt a chill go down his spine and he shuddered. He hadn’t been touched like this, with love and reverence and desire, since Ronderu.

“Obi-Wan?” Grievous said, hoping Obi-Wan would sense his growing desire and need for him. He placed a tentative hand high up on Obi-Wan’s thigh and closed his claws over the thick, muscled flesh there. He felt Obi-Wan jump and his breathing slow down at his touch. “Are we…” He watched Obi-Wan take a breath to steady himself. “Are we going to do this?”

“I want to,” Obi-Wan admitted, inching closer to Grievous. Grievous wrapped his free arm around Obi-Wan’s lower back and pulled him closer to his own body. “I haven’t done this in so long but I want to with you.”

“I want to feel alive again, Obi-Wan,” Grievous said, laying back down and pulling Obi-Wan with him. Obi-Wan rested his forehead against Grievous’ and it took everything in Grievous’ power to not lose his senses. He’d never _wanted_ anyone so bad before. He felt Obi-Wan's heart hammering against his breastplate, the same as his own. He took slow, steadying breaths, not wanting to break out into another coughing fit. He didn’t want to ruin this moment. “I want you.”

Grievous flicked his eyes down to Obi-Wan’s mouth and back up to his eyes. They shared the same look of passion in their eyes.

“I want you, too, Qymaen. I want you, too.”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan promises Grievous a better, more hopeful future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH THANK YOU FOR HANGING WITH THIS SERIES! Just you wait until the final part of the series rolls out. Happy birthday, Lee! This one's for you.
> 
> ~Hunter

Grievous sensed something was wrong. Not in the way Obi-Wan could, with his sensitivity in the Force, but because he felt the bed shift and heard Obi-Wan start panting and heaving in obvious distress. He sat up in their shared bed (well, it was more Grievous’ bed, but that was a moot point) and saw Obi-Wan leaned over the edge on his side, his back facing Grievous. He was in panic mode, his head in his hands and hunched over. Grievous wanted to reach out a comforting hand, but pulled it back when it clicked why Obi-Wan was acting like this.

It was another nightmare. 

Obi-Wan had been having nightmares more frequently now, Grievous noted. Every night since he’d come back, Obi-Wan woke up in the middle of the night either crying or screaming or panting. It was going on six nights now. He was worried about Obi-Wan; he knew firsthand just how hard the trauma of war and loss could hit someone. Just because he was a Jedi didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the effects of war. 

“Nightmare again?” Grievous felt foolish asking. Of course it was another nightmare. He let out a few short coughs and waited for Obi-Wan to respond, but received only a discomforted, pregnant silence. He exhaled slowly and narrowed his eyes in the barely-there light, trying to read Obi-Wan’s uncomfortable body language.

“Yes. I… I thought they’d go away by now. I don’t know why they persist like this.” Obi-Wan didn’t even turn his head to face Grievous. Obi-Wan sighed in frustration and rolled over onto his back so that he was back on the bed again. Grievous rhythmically tapped his claws against the bed, the tips making small, thumping noises. Grievous hesitantly laid a comforting hand over Obi-Wan’s, who grasped it in his own. The small, gentle squeeze gave Grievous some hope that Obi-Wan was feeling better, but the fact that he hadn’t yet spoken of what he saw in his nightmares troubled Grievous.

“Will you ever tell me? What you see?”

“I don’t know if you want to hear what I see.” Obi-Wan curled up to Grievous and nestled his head in the hollow of his shoulder. His voice was scared, shaky. Grievous could feel Obi-Wan’s nervousness as he shook in fear. Grievous nuzzled his chin against the top of Obi-Wan’s head to try and comfort him, but Obi-Wan curled in on himself, shying from the attention. It was so unlike Obi-Wan to act like this that it made him worried about what it was Obi-Wan was seeing. He knew the Force was powerful, mysterious, sometimes scary, in what it revealed.

“Nothing you say could scare me, love,” Grievous said, but Obi-Wan scoffed and turned away from Grievous’ body. Grievous was shocked; Obi-Wan was acting so strangely and out of character. “Obi-Wan, what…” Grievous put his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and tried to turn him. “Tell me what’s wrong. I don’t want to see you like this anymore.”

“Grievous, I don’t want to scare you, it’s probably nothing. Let me sleep.”

Grievous huffed in frustration and narrowed his eyes, finding himself growing more and more fed up with the way Obi-Wan was acting right now. These nightmares were serious.  _ Probably nothing, my ass,  _ Grievous thought to himself. One nightmare every now and then? That was normal. A nightmare every single night? For six days at least and stars know how much longer?  _ That _ was cause for concern.

“Look, Obi-Wan. I may not have the Force. I may not be able to sense your thoughts or see inside your mind, but I know that something is bothering you and that you’re hiding it from me.” Grievous was on the verge of tears; he wanted to cry, to release some of his emotions, but he knew it was impossible for him to do so like that. “Please, Obi-Wan. Please tell me.”

“I see you dying! I see you dying, alright?” Obi-Wan shouted it, turning over his shoulder with tears in his eyes. He was upset, angry. Grievous sensed it coming off his body in choppy, aggressive waves. He’d never seen him like this before. “I see the Force falling out of balance, I see darkness… such terrifying darkness.”

Grievous sat there in the bed, shocked at what he’d just heard. He slumped back against the pillows, his heart heavy and his mind reeling. Him? Dead? Darkness? The Force slipping? 

“Obi-Wan…” 

“Grievous, I see my former Padawan. Anakin. I see him becoming dark. Clouded.” Obi-Wan rolled again and clung to Grievous’ waist, cuddling up to him and keeping close. “I’m worried about him, Grievous. Worried about you.” Grievous’ heart hammered in his chest and he fought the urge to fidget and cough. “I’m afraid. I’m so afraid of what will happen after the war. If the war ever even ends.”

Grievous slowly combed his claws through Obi-Wan’s hair and listened to him as he sniffled and cried. “Obi-Wan, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just hold me.”

~~~~~

The next day as they walked through the grounds, with Sam and Korri sitting on the stone ledge perimeter (on the far side, near the densest part of the forest), legs kicking, helmets off, and guns cocked on their waists. Set to stun, as always. Grievous had learned long ago that he didn’t have to be cautious or nervous around the clones; they kept their eyes away when Obi-Wan and Grievous walked around the grounds or slipped into Grievous’ room in the evenings. 

Today was different, though. What Obi-Wan had told Grievous last night in bed had made him uneasy and worried. He’d never thought about the end of the war before that night, but now it was the only thing on his mind. He’d stayed in bed longer than he usually did, moping and watching Obi-Wan move about the room and get dressed for a while before hauling himself out of bed. He felt off. Obi-Wan felt off, too.

In fact, nothing felt distinctly  _ right _ anymore. 

So it was difficult for Grievous to walk the grounds with Obi-Wan, holding his small, human hand in his metal one, and act like nothing was the matter. Obi-Wan had as much of his body as he could pressed up against Grievous’ arm, and at one point, wrapped his arm around Grievous’ and held on tightly. Like he was afraid that Grievous would slip out of his grasp and disappear forever. Grievous didn’t want to think about it, but if what Obi-Wan saw in his dream last night was true, then he might.

“Can we sit?” Obi-Wan asked after a while of walking in silence. Grievous nodded and helped him down to the ground where they were standing. They sat and Obi-Wan instinctively curled into Grievous’ body. He was vibrating nervously, that much Grievous could tell from his body language.

“I’ve been thinking. About the life I want after the war.”

“You have?” 

Obi-Wan made a noise of affirmation and nodded. “I want to settle down some. Maybe take a long leave of rest from the Order. Not leave, but… rest. Just for a little while.”

Grievous widened his eyes in surprise. He was shocked that Obi-Wan would want to step away for a little while and leave the Order in any fashion. But he of all people knew that Obi-Wan needed to rest. The stories he’d told about the war and about the tough decisions he’d had to make since joining the Council were evidence enough that Obi-Wan should take a step back. 

“What do you want to do with that time?” Grievous coughed a few short coughs after realizing he’d been holding his breath just a little too long.

“I don’t know… maybe settle down. I know the Jedi say no attachments, but… I would make an exception for you.” Obi-Wan looked up at him expectantly, a little smile on his face. It pulled at Grievous’ heart and made him smile beneath his mask.

“Well, I feel honored to be loved by someone like you,” Grievous said with a chuckle in the back of his throat. He nuzzled his chin against the top of Obi-Wan’s head and felt the other man return the favor.

“I haven’t loved anyone in so long,” Obi-Wan said wistfully. There was that familiar, lovestruck tone in his voice. “I want to leave the Order point-blank sometimes, too. I just want to be with you.”

Grievous was touched. He really, truly was. These words of love and fidelity hadn’t been spoken to him in years and he felt his own love for Obi-Wan growing and growing.

“Finish this war first, and then we can talk about leaving the Order.” Grievous squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand in his gently. “I’m still surprised that you want to leave the Order. Despite any problems  _ I  _ may have had with the Order… the fact that you want to leave comes as a shock to me.”

“Well… there’s just been a lot of things that have happened that I don’t particularly condone. This war has gone on long enough. We mistakenly convicted Anakin’s Padawan of treason. The people are losing support for us. And it’s all making me realize just how much all of this isn’t right.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath and sighed forlornly. “The Order needs to make a lot of changes if we want to stay relevant and stay vital to the galaxy.”

“But what will you  _ do?  _ All you’ve ever known is the Order.”

“Farming, perhaps. I was supposed to go into AgriCorps. I almost didn’t become a Jedi. Maybe it’s my destiny to become a farmer.” Obi-Wan chuckled to himself. 

“You almost weren’t a Jedi?” Grievous was stunned. This man, who was the most devout Jedi he’d ever encountered, was almost not a Jedi? He couldn’t even fathom what his life would be like if he had never met Obi-Wan.

“Sounds hard to believe, but yes. I was on my way to join the AgriCorps as a youngling when Master Jinn took notice of me and decided to make me his Padawan. I will forever be grateful for him and his decision.”

“If you hadn’t become a Jedi, I don’t know where I’d be. I’m still shocked that it was a Jedi who took a chance and reached out to me.” Grievous shook his head in disbelief. “I hate what the Jedi, the Republic, did to me and my people. But I hate what Dooku and the Separatists did more.”

“I always knew you weren’t truly in the Separatist fight, Grievous. I couldn’t bear to see someone who’d gone through such abuse and exploitation at someone else’s hands continue to suffer.” Grievous blushed beneath his mask at Obi-Wan’s words. He was always too good to him, too sweet. He could rarely find such flowery words when talking to Obi-Wan.

“I love you.” Grievous settled on being short and sweet; he always managed to get his point across when he kept it simple. “I love you. Life without you would be… impossible.”

“I love you, too.” Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to the grille of his mask. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, love.”   
“I do, too.” Grievous carded his claws through Obi-Wan’s hair. Everything felt so perfect and beautiful in this moment. The Naboo sun was shining above them, the birds were singing in the forest around them, the river was running. Everything felt so alive and whole. You could forget there was a war raging around the galaxy here, that this beautiful place was actually a prison. 

“I want to move to Tatooine. Or somewhere in the Outer Rim. Maybe even wild space. Somewhere far away where nobody knows me. Knows  _ us.  _ We can have a farm there, lay low. Keep a quiet life.” 

Obi-Wan always spoke with such hope and passion. He had a romantic’s heart, brimming with idealism and optimism. After so many years of living in a dark, ruthless, cynical world, it was a refreshing welcome. When Obi-Wan talked about his plans for the future, about the war, about the Jedi… Grievous believed that happy endings could happen. And right now? Grievous wanted that life Obi-Wan was talking about. 

“That sounds nice.” Grievous meant it. He really did. But the nagging voice in the back of his reminded him that he was a war criminal, a monster, a genocidist.  _ You don’t deserve that happiness. You don’t deserve him. You’ll be lucky if the Republic lets you stay here for the rest of your life and don’t execute you.  _ Grievous was pulled back to reality and out of what was supposed to be a tender, hopeful moment. “That is, if they ever let me get out of here. If they let me live.” Obi-Wan sat back and positioned himself so that he was looking directly at Grievous.

“I won’t let them do that to you,” Obi-Wan said with fire in his eyes and passion in his voice. He held fast to Grievous’ hands and maintained their eye contact, deepening his gaze to further emphasize his intent. “I won’t let them take you away from me. I won’t let  _ anyone _ take you away from me.”

“But what if ―” 

“No what ifs. I want to marry you, start a new  _ life  _ with you. I want to have a house, a farm, a―” There were tears in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He bit back a sob and bit his lip, fretting over if he wanted to say what he was thinking next. “A family. I want to have a family with you.” He wiped a tear away from his eyes. “And I promise you that I will never.  _ Never _ stop fighting for you.”

Grievous’ heart just about stopped when Obi-Wan told him that. He’d had children before, thirty (and perhaps even more) of them, but those had been with partners who meant nothing to him. They weren’t like Ronderu or Obi-Wan. For the first time in so long, he wanted to have that family. He wanted to believe everything Obi-Wan promised him so badly. He wanted to believe in Obi-Wan, be good for him. The emotions welled up in his chest and he was hit with a pang of yearning and longing.

“Do you promise?”

“I do.” Obi-Wan huffed in disbelief and smiled a wistful smile. “Qymaen, I promise to do whatever it takes to keep you in my life.” He kissed Grievous’ knuckles, each joint getting attention that befitted a holy relic from a pilgrim.

Grievous pressed the button that removed his mask, coughing as he breathed in the pure Naboo air, and set it aside. He pulled in Obi-Wan for a kiss, a passionate one that left him breathless and unbelievably full of love.

Even if it was just for right now, this magnificent, perfect now, Obi-Wan’s promise of a future where they could be together made Grievous feel recklessly happy. Recklessly, dangerously, entirely happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, in ya brain: kudos/comment on this fic  
> you: but why  
> me, in ya brain: you gotta
> 
> ~Hunter


End file.
